


To Live While You're Alive

by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Masturbation, Size Difference, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: It starts when Prowl accidentally clues you in that Cybertronians totally have junk. You're trading stories about your misspent youths (you're the one providing most of the 'misspent' part of that), and he's telling you about this time when he was in a cramped little hideaway on stakeout and because they didn't have enough room, his partner's foot totally got jammed right into his interface array, and he couldn’t make a sound because there were people outside and his partner—That’s when you have to interrupt him to ask what an interface array is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/153452696291/to-live-while-youre-alive-spockandawe-the)

It starts when Prowl accidentally clues you in that Cybertronians totally have junk.

So awright, backtrack. You and him are making one of those nice, long, soul-crushing cross-country drives, all the way from DC to San Francisco. Even once you clear the actually-populated part of the country and can cruise along at alien car robot speeds, that’s still a trip that takes forever and a half. You dozed in the back seat for a while, messed around on your phone for a bit, but seriously, these coast-to-coast trips take _so fricking long_. And now you and Prowl are trading stories of your misspent youths.

Okay, you’re the one providing most of the ‘misspent’ part of that, but still. And you might have practically no youth at all compared to how long he’s been alive, but as far as you’re concerned, that just means you get to fob him off with a few boring old stories about foster care and school and all that stuff, and then you get to sit back and watch the sunset and listen to him talk about Cybertron.

It’s nice, you know? It’s a whole ’nother world for you to lose yourself in, and even if you play it safe and cut out the whole war thing, you still have a couple thousand years of living for him to tell you all about. It’s all still kinda new and tentative between you and him, like, you knew how hard you could push with Stakeout and Uncle Magnus and Kup and Springer, but you think you and Prowl could get comfy together with a little time.

And he’s telling you this story about how he was off spying on this one government dude, and was staking out the guy’s home for a few solid years ( _years,_ jesus, maybe Cybertronian lifespans aren’t all that great after all). He and his partner were stuck together in a cramped little hidey hole. And you’re not saying this guy is his ex, but… just listen to him, this is _totally_ his ex. And his ex was trying to move around him in that little space and one of his wheels got caught on the ceiling, and when Prowl tried to help him out, his ex’s foot totally jammed _right_ into his interface array, and he couldn’t make a sound because there were people outside and his ex was still stuck—

That’s when you have to interrupt him to ask what an interface array is.

This happens so often you don’t think much of it. You’re able to keep up a lot better than you used to, but then someone will casually mention Sherma Bridge or the Warrior’s Gate or whatever like you know exactly what it is, and you have to put the brakes on the conversation to get that background. You don’t mind, it’s just more of Cybertron for you to roll around in, which is exactly what you were after in the first place.

On the other hand, you _do_ notice when Prowl stumbles over that question, hesitates, and switches right on over to a brand new story, like that isn’t literally the most awkward conversational transition you’ve ever seen in your life.

You sit up in your seat. “What, no, you can’t distract me _that_ easily. What’s an interface array?”

No response. You kick the seat in front of you. “Prowwwlll.” You kick the seat again. “I can do this all day.”

The answer you get is so stiff and awkward it would do a middle school sex ed teacher proud. And he’s dancing hard around the point, but seriously, there’s only so much dancing he can _do_.

“Holy shit,” you breathe. _“Robot junk.”_

You need to laugh so bad you _can’t_ laugh, that’s how hilarious the whole thing is to you. You mean— what are you supposed to picture, okay? Literally the _only thing_ you can visualize right now is human bits superimposed on a robot. Cybertronians with giant ol’ dicks. _Optimus Prime_ with a man-sized dick, just…. hanging out there. Swinging in the breeze. Cut or uncut, that’s the _real_ question. _Robot pubes_ , oh my god, _noooo—_

You’re clinging to the seat in front of you, shaking with silent laughter. How is this a thing that is really happening? You can’t _breathe_.

It takes you a little to notice Prowl trying to talk to you, and it isn’t until you hear, “—taking you to a hospital immediately—” that you catch up.

“ _No,”_ you gasp. “No, dude, I don’t need to go to a hospital.”

“You’re clearly unwell,” he says, “and I’m going to ensure you seek proper medical care.”

“What? Oh my god, _Prowl_. This is laughter. _Good humor_. Don’t they have that where you come from?”

“Where I come from, good humor isn’t expressed through the suspension of critical vital functions.”

Ahahaaaa, is he worried about you? Is he _sulking_? He’s totally sulking. You wipe tears from your eyes and try again.

All slow and hesitating, you say, “Well… there— There _is_ something that’s bothering me.”

He sighs. “I thought as much. We should reach the nearest hospital in less than forty minutes. I’m vetting the doctors on staff right now—”

You bite your lip, as much to stop yourself from cracking up as anything else. “I— Prowl, I’m not sure if. If they can really fix this.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Will you help me?”

“Verity, what’s the matter? I can’t help you until I know what you need.”

You lose the battle against the laughter. “ _I need to know where your dick is_. Prowl, holy shit, you can’t just tell me these things and expect me to take it in stride!”

And there’s nothing but sullen silence.

“Aw, you really were worried about me! That’s sweet. But you can get back to adoring me later, we’re busy breaking new ground here. For the sake of _science,_ Prowl! Don’t you want me to succeed as Earth’s leading xenobiologist? Why don’t you support my career goals? Just think of what this could do for interspecies relations! Relations in the _biblical_ sense, obviously—”

All you get from him is “If you’re quite done...”

“Prowl, _Prowl_ , this is critical, I will literally die if I don’t learn more about Cybertronian junk, you can’t tell me just that and leave me hanging. I can’t even go to the internet to educate myself! Let me on your internet so I can go look up all sorts of porn, I need to know _everything._ ”

“You won’t literally die.”

“You don’t know that. You just thought that me laughing meant I needed to go to a hospital, that was like two seconds ago. Maybe humans have a crazy biological thing where if you tempt them with delicious information and then withhold it like a total jerk, they keel over and die and you feel bad about it for the rest of your life.”

You clamber over into the front seats. The roads are so deserted in these parts that Prowl isn’t even bothering to use his holoavatar. “I mean, you’re a car, right? A transforming car? Does your junk transform too? Because that would be _seriously_ the best thing ever.” When you see his gear stick, you _have_ to grab it. “Prowl, _is this your dick?”_

All you get is a flat, “No.”

 _Boring_. But you haven’t even begun to get annoying yet. “Okay, no big deal! That’s a little obvious, and WOW, awkward if someone just climbs in and starts cranking your dick like nobody’s business. Ooh, is it in your glove compartment?” You pop it open before he can answer, but it’s just empty and you sigh. “Come on, man, that was a golden opportunity. Work with me here.”

You lean back in the seat and tap your chin. “What if it’s in your trunk? Is that what you have instead of a spare tire? And that’s too perfect, junk in the trunk, oh my god. Though—” You’re starting to crack up again. “That would make you a _literal_ dickbutt. I couldn’t handle it. Just—no, I couldn’t deal with that. But I need to know. Prowl. Prowl. Pull over, I need to look in your trunk.”

_“No.”_

“You’re no fun.” You sigh, and pat his wheel. “Fine, I can find other ways to amuse myself. Like nipples. Talk nipples with me, dude. You know you’ve got a killer rack, have you got robo-nipples to go with it? Are they your _headlights?_ Yes? No? _Tell me your secrets_.”

And then—You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, it was just a weird _thing_ that happened, and you had other stuff to worry about. But… “Holy shit,” you say distantly. “ _Overlord_ had robo-nipples. Giant metal ones. Nipples the size of my head. What am I supposed to do with that information? I didn’t sign up for these awkward revelations, _wow._ I think I’m bailing out of this conversational tangent.”

Prowl says, “If you’re finished—”

“ _Hey._ Nobody said anything about finished. Come on, just talk to me. Every time I’ve revved your engine, have I really _revved your engine?_ If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll have to call up Uncle Magnus to finish my robot sex ed, and I don’t think any of us want that.”

“And if I indulge you, you’ll drop the subject?”

You fold your arms. “No promises. But maybe.”

It looks like that’s good enough for him. Yesss. Victory: Verity. Not gonna lie, you’re kind of looking forward to seeing Prowl try to describe alien junk with just words, but he cheats and brings up a display on his dashboard.

He begins, “Your questions were never going to be answered, because Cybertronian and human physiologies are independent of each other, and Cybertronian anatomy does not include a ‘dick’.” You’re already rolling your eyes at that, because yeah, these two bipedal humanoid species are _totally_ nothing like each other, but he continues, “As you can see, barring significant post-construction modifications, standard Cybertronian interface array configurations consist of a single spike and single valve—”

And you have to put the brakes on the conversation, because, “Prowl. That is _clearly_ a dick. _And_ a vag. Holy shit, you get to have _both?_ ”

“No,” he says. “Human genitals exist to play a role in human reproduction.”

“Only if you’re being _boring,_ ” you mutter, but he ignores you.

“An interface array serves no such purpose. So, as I was saying, a spike and valve—”

“Wait, what purpose? What are these bits there for, then?”

Smoothly, he says, “Bonding with a partner. Reduction of stress. Triggering internal release of beneficial chemicals—”

“Fun,” you interject. You put a foot up on his dashboard, just to bother him. “Sex for fun. _Totally_ revolutionary and something that humans definitely don’t do. Go on, I’m excited to hear how this is _super_ different, no, honest.”

“It is a distinct component of Cybertronian frames entirely unrelated to human biological constructs.”

“ _Dude,_ come on. You’re smarter than this. It walks like a dick and talks like a dick. Why isn’t it a dick? Why is it a—What was it you said? _Spike?_ ”

Man, you wish you could see his _face_ while you’re making him explain all this. “Translation software specified the closest parallel word in English to describe the components of our interface array. Clearly, a spike isn’t a ‘dick’.”

You snort. “Wow, I really hope that isn’t the case. I would _not_ be sticking something described as a ‘spike’ up my junk. And what’s that definitely-not-a-vagina again?”

“A valve.”

“You aren’t serious.” You’re trying _real hard_ not to crack up again. You’ve _gotta_ hear the rest of this. “Go ahead, tell me the rest of it.”

You hold it together through nodes. _Robot clits_. This is the highlight of your _life._ You manage to choke back the urge to ask about robot balls. You even keep a straight face while he’s talking about how they stimulate each other to ‘overload,’ pfffft, _okay_ . But when he gets to transfluid, you _lose it_.

“Prowl, _Prowl_ , you’re going to kill me like this!” You’re laughing so hard you’re starting to tear up, and you have to pause to _breathe_ , and to wipe your eyes. “Okay. I think I’ve got it figured out. Whoever wrote your translation software was totally just too embarrassed to take a good hard look at the world of human porn and that’s how this happened. Some Cybertronian didn’t want to know about humans getting it on, and stole a bunch of unrelated words to describe your junk. You _have_ to tell me who it was, I’ll never ask for anything else again, I swear.”

“Given your history, you may understand why I’ll express my doubts that you’re being truthful.”

“Oh stop, it’s just exaggeration. Everyone who isn’t you does it.” You slump in the seat, getting your breath back. You give Prowl’s seat an affectionate pat. It’s been _way_ too long since you were able to laugh like this.

“Wait, I can test this hypothesis. We just need to find other sex-specific words and see if you know them. Bondage—no, that’s still a PG word if you go archaic. Hm.” You drum your fingers, trying to think this through. Lots of kink words really do have non-sexy roots if you dig at them. What’s _just_ a kink thing?

And then you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe again. _“Vore_. Oh my god, Prowl, you’ve been voring me this _whole time_ . You didn’t even warn me! Where’s the consent? _Ahahaaa,_ how many of you have vored me by now? So many of you! Ever since Ratchet popped my vore cherry. Did he even know he was my first?”

You flutter your eyelashes at Prowl’s dashboard, and you _win_ , because he sighs and asks, “If you’re done?”

“ _Voreginity,”_ is all you manage, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your stomach _aches_ from laughing too hard. When you finally have yourself back under control again, you turn over a little in the seat, so your knees are wedged against the center console and you can plant your face in the back of the seat.

“Thanks,” you say. “I needed that.”

“And you’re _certain_ you don’t need to go to a hospital.”

“Oh, stop. I’m allowed to have a good time. A sense of humor is not a treatable medical condition.”

There’s companionable silence for a few minutes. Your face is still half mashed into Prowl’s seat, but with one eye you watch the landscape roll by. The last bit of the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and everything is starting to get all dim and shadowy.

Eventually, you ask, “So is Cybertronian sex, like, a romance thing?”

“ _Interfacing_ can be, yes.”

“So sometimes it’s not?”

He hesitates. “It can be.”

“Huh.” More silence. “How long’s it been since you got lucky? In years and rounded,” you add. “I don’t need it to the day.”

“About six hundred thousand years,” he says. “I believe— Yes, on Centaris Seven. Six hundred thousand years.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. “And here I am sulking about a ten-month dry spell. Though how does that compare in terms of proportion of expected lifespan? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to feel even sorrier for myself.”

And before you can think through all the reasons you shouldn’t suggest it, you say, “Want to hook up?”

Dead quiet. Ha, _wow_ , that was an even worse idea than you thought.

You’re still trying to think of how to play that off like it was totally a joke when Prowl says, “We’re incompatible.”

 _That isn’t a no_. “What? Incompatible how? Emotionally? I’m not asking you to marry me or anything—”

“ _Physically,_ Verity. You’re considerably smaller than I am—”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“—and any attempt to interface will result in your injury. What are your dimensions?”

“Dimensions? Like… my junk? You _measure_ that? What units would that even be in?”

Firmly, he says, “We’re incompatible.”

You’re trying not to laugh again. You’re going to have abs of _steel_ by the time this is all over. “Oh my god, your dick has to be thicker than my arm, I _never_ thought that was going inside me.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

“What? No, holy shit.” You rub the bridge of your nose. “Just—do Cybertronians have super vanilla porn? Have you ever looked at the human internet? Because this barely even qualifies as a speed bump.”

“You’re going to injure yourself,” he says.

“Am not. Besides, you already checked out all those doctors, wouldn’t want to let all that work go to waste, right? But seriously, I can think of all sorts of sexy activities we can do that don’t involve any kind of penetration, and that’s without even going to the internet for inspiration.”

Silence.

You add, “You’re allowed to say no. Just don’t assume I’m going to get hurt when there are loads of safe options out there.”

More silence.

And then he says, “What sort of options?”

 _Yesssss_. “Without bringing any accessories into the mix? Well you can do all sorts of things with your hands without getting _in_ me. Your mouth is fair game. And me—I’m gonna go ahead and say my mouth doesn’t open _quite_ wide enough to do anything exciting, and let’s not even get into other orifices. But I’ve got hands, and—Have you ever heard of intercrural? Because I saw this one guy for a little who was totally into that, and it’s _surprisingly_ hot.”

There’s another awkward quiet stretch, but you’re pretty much starting to think that this is the subtle sound of Prowl trying (and failing?) to talk himself out of this.

You say, “Prowl, I think I may _literally_ die if I don’t get to see a giant robot dick.”

“I’m sure you’ll make medical history. It should be an impressive legacy.”

“ _Fine_ , be like that. But I’ll totally cry. So much crying. I’ll call Kup and he’ll be like ‘why are you crying?’ and I’ll be like ‘because Prowl won’t show me his dick,’ and he’ll nod wisely and be like ‘yes, I understand, we’ve all been there.’”

Now _this_ is the silence of Prowl ignoring you. Very subtly different from his many other silences. But you’re learning to read him. So you add, “Just watch, I’m going to cry all over your upholstery. Your seats are going to be soaked with organic fluids. _So many organic fluids_. How many fluids can a single human produce? I guess we’re going to learn together. What did you call it, transfluid—?”

And suddenly you’re not in a car anymore, as Prowl smoothly transforms to his feet, catching you in his hands as his cabin splits. You’re mostly used to this kind of thing by now, but it’s still a little bit of a surprise when it comes out of nowhere.

As soon as you get your bearings again, you grin up at him and say, “What’s a nice mech like you doing in a place like this?”

He says, “I understood that reference.”

“HA— Oh, wait, you weren’t making an Avengers joke. Never mind.”

He doesn’t have anything to say in response to that. And you don’t really know what to say either. You strike your best cheesecake pose—so a _mediocre_ cheesecake pose further undermined by your hoodie and ratty jeans—and grin up at him.

“We making this happen?”

He sighs again. “Perhaps.”

“Oh come _on_ , man. If you’re interested and I’m interested—which I am, in case there was still any question about that—then why shouldn’t we do this?”

More hesitation. Morrrrrre hesitation. Is this still because you might get hurt? You’re a little annoyed he won’t admit that maybe, _possibly,_ you might know what you’re talking about, but also it’s pretty cute when he worries about you.

Finally, slowly _,_ he goes to one knee, then the other. He looks down at you and says, “If you show me what to do.”

 _Yes_. Oh _hell_ yes, you can’t believe this is actually happening. He settles you down across his legs, his hands still against your back. You have to laugh again, out of pure giddy excitement, and you’re too busy wriggling out of your clothes to even give him a proper answer. But you _think_ that getting naked siting right there in his lap sends a pretty clear message. And maybe you ought to be a little embarrassed about getting naked right here next to the road where anyone could drive by at any time—But hey, it’s starting to get dark, and you’ve got a chance to get laid with an _alien_.

Once you toss your underwear over the edge, you—could strike another cheesecake pose, you guess. But it’s easier to just lean your weight back into Prowl’s fingers and curl your legs up onto his lap. You grin at him and ask, “Ready for me to show you the ropes?”

Prowl nods.

And ha, wow, okay _._ You talk a good game, but it’s a whole different thing being up here and trying to take the lead like this is a totally normal thing that you’re totally used to doing. You take a deep breath and shut your eyes. All you have to do is touch yourself. You can totally manage this.

“Boobs,” you say. “Let’s start there. Nice and easy. You just—play with them, I guess? Wait, stop. Too awkward, hold on.” Agh, you’re ruining this. _Deep breath_. You’ve got this. “Give me your hands.”

You don’t get his _hands_ exactly, but you grab his thumbs, and that’s pretty much all you need. Prowl tilts you back against his palms, taking your weight. You’re reclining there, leaned up against his fingers, and move his thumbs up from your waist to rest against your boobs.

“All you have to do is move them—Not too hard, but I’m not fragile or anything—”

And you are rapidly running out of words. Way to blow your chance. Wow.

But as it happens, it works out just fine, because _Prowl_ takes the initiative and brushes one of his thumbs slowly across your chest.

It—oh, that’s _nice_. It’s not the same as human hands, just this heavy unstoppable weight that’s making such careful, delicate contact. It catches and drags across your nipple and sends a shiver down your spine. The evening air’s starting to get chilly, and the contrast between that and the warmth of Prowl’s plating makes the sensation even sharper as his thumb moves back down over your chest, catching against your nipple again.

And when you look up at his face, he’s watching you closely. You’re sure you’re reacting, because how are you supposed to not react to this? It’s so _much_ compared to regular human hands, every touch has so much weight and _impact_ , and you are absolutely, unironically into this.

You catch your hand starting to drift down to your thigh, and stop yourself. Too soon. You’ve gotten a chance here, you _have_ to make the most of it. But Prowl isn’t stopping, and every drag of his thumbs across your chest makes you shift in his hands, and there’s nowhere for you to escape from his _eyes_. You’re suddenly desperate to break the tension.

“You sure you’re not hiding boobs under there somewhere? I dunno, chest spheres or something? Work with me here.”

He says, “Oh, you must mean our thoracic cones.”

“ _Really??”_

“No.”

Ahhh, you can’t even be mad he played you like that, not when you see that little hint of a smile spreading across his face. And the way his fingers are still gently, _carefully_ moving over your nipples. That doesn’t hurt either.

You hold out as long as you can. It isn’t easy, you thought you grew out of embarrassment years ago, but it feels like you’ve got a full-body blush going on, and there’s no way for you to get away from his eyes. You’re so _exposed_ here, and every time you shift, you’re aware of bare skin moving against metal plating. Prowl isn’t doing anything new to you, but he isn’t stopping either. It’s not like you’ve ever been that sensitive, but you catch yourself getting all breathless every time his thumbs pass over his chest, waiting for that heavy drag against your skin.

Your legs fell open at some point, and you’re not even sure when. You only notice when you realize you’re straddling one of Prowl’s thighs, and it’s too flat and _wide_ for you to get any—any real contact. But that doesn’t stop you from pushing up from where his hands have been supporting you , and you lean forward, your hands braced on his leg. You try to grind your hips down into him, but you can’t get the right _angle_. You’ve got your legs spread as wide as you can, but the edges of Prowl’s legs are biting into your thighs, and if you can maybe just go a little further—

You only barely manage to get the littlest bit of contact on your clit, but it’s still enough to surprise a noise out of you. Prowl’s fingers still against you, and words, you can do words. _“Don’t stop_ ,” you tell him, and _thank god_ , he goes back to brushing his fingers over and over your chest. You’re oversensitive, it’s almost too much, but stopping is even worse. You try to grind your hips down against him again, but the edges of his legs dig into your thighs again, and you have to back away. You’re going to have some interesting bruises when this is over. You try one last time, but you can feel your legs starting to cramp and have to lean back into Prowl’s hands again.

“Can I—?”

You don’t even know if he knows what you’re asking, but he says, “Yes.”

That’s all you need, and it feels like cheating even though it’s _not_ , but you get a finger on your clit and it just takes you a couple moments to tip yourself over the edge. It’s just a shivery little orgasm that barely takes the edge off, but that’s good, because you’re not even close to being done here.

When you look up, Prowl is still watching you. You grin and curl your legs up into his lap again. “Time to show me what you’re packing?”

He sighs again, which you’re thinking is _probably_ a reaction you should get used to from him. But he takes more of your weight on his hands, shifts back on his heels, and nudges his legs just a little wider apart. You’ve got a front row seat to watch a little metal plate slide away under his other plating, and you get a good look at his vag (valve?) before all your attention is on his dick as it extends forward, until it almost brushes against your leg. And you might be pretty skinny, but this thing is still almost as wide around as your thigh. Holy shit, how did you get this lucky?

But Prowl leans over and shakes his head and says, “Physically incompatible.”

“Oh my god, no,” you say. “Just because penetration isn’t happening, don’t you go giving up on this.”

You swing your legs over onto one side of his thigh and inch further up his lap. His hand stays right behind your back. You guess it _might_ kill the mood a little if you fell off his lap. The _scale_ of him is so unreal. You’re used to Cybertronians at this point, you really are. And you joked about what kind of stuff is out there on the internet. But it’s still so strange sitting here and seeing nearly-human junk that’s this large attached to an actual real-life person. There are little lights on his dick that match the lights on his chest, and they cast a red and blue glow against your legs.

Then you look down past his dick, and _crack up_. “Prowl, _Prowl_ , remind me to make you look up unbirthing later. You _have_ to do it. I thought about it, so now you have to also. Those are the rules.”

“...of course.”

“ _While you’re in root mode._ I want to see your face.”

“I’m sure.”

Haha, he thinks you’re kidding. This should be amazing. Later. There are other things to take care of now. Prowl is still watching you so, so closely, and it’s still almost too intense having so much of his attention on you like this. But you can’t let nerves psych you out now. You take one last deep breath, reach out, and touch him.

This plating is softer than the rest of him, that’s the first thing you notice. It’s still metal, but it doesn’t feel like _touching_ metal. When you run your hand along his dick, it feels like it even has a little give under your fingers. You have to lean in real close to see all the tiny, delicate plates that make up his junk. Experimentally, you press your fingers against one of the larger seams. Prowl’s fingers twitch against your back, and you hear some kind of _hum_ coming from his chest.

“What—”

“Cooling fans,” he says.

Oh, _nice_. Instant feedback. You press your fingers in even harder, dragging them along the seam. His fans get a little louder, and he shifts a little, curling towards you. You take your time feeling out the shape of him. There are so many little plates, all these little lights, so many things you have to _touch_. You feel him out all the way down his dick, and you just can’t get enough of it. It’s so fascinating and so close to being something human, and you’re still so aware of every single tiny, restrained reaction you manage to get out of him.

And then, on an impulse, you lean forward, reaching past his dick, and get a hand on his clit. His hand closes tight around your ribs for a moment before he loosens his grip. You press your palm into his clit, and grin as you feel the way his hips shift forward into your touch. The angle you have isn’t good, not at all, but you try to find some kind of rhythm as you rock the heel of your hand against his clit, listening to the noise of his fans getting louder and louder.

Finally, he says, _“Verity—”_

Your arm is starting to ache and your back isn’t doing much better, so reluctantly, you sit back up and lean into his hand again. You ask, “Ready to get your horizons expanded?”

He doesn’t answer, but you see him nod down at you.

It does take a little bit of directing to get him holding you the right way. And it doesn’t help that you’re figuring this out as you go. But soon enough he’s up on his knees and has you laying back in his hands, taking all your weight. That leaves you free to put your feet up against the plating of his chest. And, more importantly, it leaves you free to wrap your thighs nice and tight around his dick.

Once you’ve gotten him that far, he’s fast enough to catch on. When you push against his chest with your feet, he follows your cue, shifting you away, then rocking you back against him. He moves you so slow and careful, it makes a girl feel real taken care of. You’re hypnotized by the slide of his dick between your legs. It’s so _smooth_ , which is good, definitely good, you don’t want anything sharp. But it’s still surreal how soft his plating is as it slides against your skin.

Your hands rest on the head of his dick, shifting with him as he moves. As he moves _you._ You let your hands slip down along his plating as he pushes between your thighs, feeling out the lines of his plating, watching the way his lights play over your legs. It’s already getting to you. You always forget how _intimate_ this feels, and it’s even more intimate with Prowl, like this, with his hands under your back, carefully cradling you, the whole expanse of his chest and shoulders above you, there’s so much of him that it just surrounds you completely. His eyes are still on you.

It isn’t long at all before you catch yourself trying to wriggle down in his grip, work yourself against him. You brace your feet against his chest, trying to tilt your hips up further. You finally find the right angle, and his dick drags against you, and the sudden contact, the pressure and _heat,_ you just, _“Nhhh—!”_

“Verity?” And hey, you might be making embarrassing noises, but at least Prowl’s voice doesn’t sound too steady either. “Are you injured?”

“ _God_ , no,” you gasp. “Don’t you dare stop. And go harder, I can take it—”

You must be getting to him, because he actually takes you at your word. It’s still so careful you feel a little touched. He doesn’t move you so hard it’s uncomfortable, or fast enough you worry about overbalancing. But it’s _harder_ and _faster_ , the kind of pounding rhythm that really feels like _sex_. Prowl’s fans are a constant background roar, but that’s, that’s good, and it maybe hides the way you can’t help making stupid little noises with every exhale.

His hands close around you, and he shifts further forward. He’s moving against you now too, his hips coming forward to meet you. He’s still gentle, so gentle, you can handle getting rough in the bedroom, but there’s still not even a single impact, just the careful pressure of his hands beneath you and the slide of his dick between your legs, against you. You’re pressing your thighs together so hard your legs are trembling, and you can’t tell if you’re imagining the way Prowl’s hands are shaking against you.

He finishes first, with a soft, “ _Ahh—”_ You keep your legs locked tight around him, pressing your fingers as well as you can into the seams between his plates. But his hands are even more unsteady than yours, they’re definitely shaking now. He’s holding you tight against him, leaning forward over you until you’re almost bent double. And he also comes all over you. As Prowl sits back on his heels, you look down at yourself and almost start laughing again. It’s good you have a towel packed in his trunk, that’s all you’re saying.

But more importantly, his dick is already sliding away, back into wherever it came from, and no, that’s not fair, you aren’t _done_ yet, you’re so close—

Prowl says, “Verity?”

Well. Maybe you could finish yourself again, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, you push yourself upright, finding your footing on his thigh. “Give me your hand,” you say.

You could explain yourself, but that takes _time,_ and all you can focus on is the way the space between your thighs feels so empty, and you were almost, almost there, and you just need _more—_ As soon as Prowl offers a hand to you, you grab it and reposition him so you can straddle one of his fingers. It’s not his dick, but like _this,_ you can brace yourself against his palm, grinding your hips down against his hand. You let more of your weight rest against him, enough pressure it’s almost pain.

You curl forward over his hand and blindly grab at his wrist plating. You press yourself down against him, harder and harder. You’re biting your lip, searching for that little bit _more—_ And he crooks his finger against you, and your legs buckle. You’re barely supporting any of your own weight anymore, and it’s so much you can barely process the sensation anymore, and, _“Prowl—”_

Once you’ve tipped over that edge, you draw it out as long as you can. Your eyes are tight shut and you’re breathing hard, your blood pounding in your ears. Your hands ache with how hard you’re holding onto Prowl, but you can’t let go, and all you can do is work your hips down against his finger, grinding against him, until the very last aftershocks finally die out and it becomes so _much_ you can’t handle it anymore. When you finally push away and try to stand on your own, you almost lose your balance and tip over, until Prowl’s other hand comes up to support your back.

You’re still breathing hard and half dazed, and all you can do at first is grin up at him. What are you supposed to say after that?

Lucky for you, he speaks up first. Of course, what he says is, “There will be a human vehicle within visual range in 3.4 minutes.”

That barely even counts as a tight squeeze, but you still go right ahead and complain at him as he transforms back into his alt mode and you collect a towel and a change of clothes from his trunk. “And what were you going to do if I hadn’t finished right then? Just let me carry on? I hadn’t pinged you as an exhibition kind of guy.”

“Considering you’ve already threatened to get fluids on my seats—”

You have to laugh at that. “Okay, now I don’t know of _any_ humans who produce as many ‘fluids’ as you do. The mess would have been all your fault. That’s what I’m saying. Have you ever gotten jizz inside your cabin before? Has someone _else_ gotten jizz in your cabin before? How would you clean that up? Do you guys have upholstery cleaning specialists?”

You don’t get any satisfactory answers, but you weren’t really expecting any. You towel yourself off real fast, toss the dirty towel into the trunk to clean later, collect your scattered clothes, grab a _new_ set of clothes, and make it into Prowl’s cabin with 0.6 minutes to spare. You prop your feet up on his dashboard while you watch a set of headlights go by on the road.

Prowl waits until you’ve wriggled into your underwear and pants before he sets out, and you take your time pulling on the rest of your clothing. The last thing you do is put on a old, worn sweatshirt that’s so large it hangs over your hands. When you look around, it’s gotten dark, and you can’t see much more than what his lights illuminate on the road ahead. After a few minutes, you recline the seat, and lay down on it, wedging your knees against his center console.

“How long until we get there?”

“Thirteen hours.”

You yawn. You shouldn’t be tired this early, but you always forget how nice it feels to get laid and curl up somewhere all warm and cozy. This might not be like any cuddling you’ve ever done before, but… it’s basically the same thing, isn’t it? And you yawn again. You give in and ask, “You don’t mind if I get some rest, do you?”

“Of course not,” Prowl says. His dashboard lights dim, and when you shut your eyes, all you can feel is the steady vibrations of his engine under you. You turn your face even further into his seat. “I’ll see you in the morning, Verity.”


End file.
